


It's Too Late

by random_chick



Category: Primeval
Genre: Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-29
Updated: 2013-09-29
Packaged: 2017-12-27 22:33:18
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 451
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/984387
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/random_chick/pseuds/random_chick
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He was determined to face it all while he still could. He couldn’t fix anything, but he could do that much for them.</p>
            </blockquote>





	It's Too Late

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Eternal Scribe (Shadowcat)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shadowcat/gifts).



He’d had nothing but good intentions, honestly, intentions that he’d thought would see him through to making everything alright, and now all they’d see him was dead.

As Stephen lay, torn and bleeding, on the floor of a room he was no longer entirely aware of, all he could think of was the people he’d never see again

Alison. Because they’d made good friends, in the beginning of it all, before she’d gone one way and he’d gone another and they’d never circled back around to each other again. Not that he wanted anything more from her, but if he never saw her again then he could never give her the apologies he owed her -- apology for not being what she needed, for not being _who_ she needed, because he knew he wasn’t the man for her and truth be told had known it almost from the beginning. But the sex had been great, so who had either of them been to argue?

Abby. Bright, beautiful, shining Abby. Abby, who he’d asked out at the worst possible of times and in the worst possible of situations. And then he’d forgotten about it, which had only compounded the hurt he knew she’d felt. Who he’d always wished to have a second chance with -- or was that a first chance, really? He didn’t know and he supposed all that mattered was that a chance of any kind didn’t look to be happening. (That didn’t mean he wouldn’t hold out hope to the bitter end, however. A dying man could dream for however long he had left.)

Cutter. The man whose wife he’d… well, no, if it’d been any other woman, he might’ve said he’d stolen her away, but to say that of Helen would be a lie and Stephen was determined not to lie to himself about her any longer. Not now, when time was so precious. Not when he had other facts to face. Namely, that he’d lied to Cutter, he’d ruined their friendship, and he’d made a move to salvage things too late, when such a move would mean precious little. He would die now instead of Cutter, something he knew the other man would feel forever guilty about.

Stephen could feel consciousness leaving him rapidly; with consciousness would follow his very life. This made it increasingly difficult to face what he’d done to the ones he loved, but he was determined to face it all while he still could. He couldn’t fix anything, but he could do that much for them.

All he had time for was to marvel that it no longer hurt, really, and then all Stephen could feel was death as it quietly came to claim him.


End file.
